Elias grinned, making Owen’s gut clench. He saw faith in his brother’s eyes, and he hoped he managed to live up to it.
Two hours later, they pulled into Wyatt’s driveway. An old, beaten truck sat in the driveway, and the shed door swung with the wind. Getting out, Owen wandered over to the shed, curious to see the masterpieces Elias spoke about. His eyes widened at the creative pieces. A large kitchen table, exactly like their family’s sat in the corner of the building. Curiosity got the best of him as he walked toward the familiar piece. Eight chairs surrounded it, and at the top of each chair, Wyatt etched the names of his brothers and Dad. Mom’s chair sat at the head with carved wildflowers, his mother’s favorite, under her name. A chair Wyatt built for a queen.
A deep sadness filled Owen as he felt Wyatt’s pain etched in each chair. Glancing at his brother’s spot, he noticed Wyatt’s chair remained empty, with no name, as if he never existed.
“I told you,” Elias murmured beside him. “I peeked in the window. He’s passed out on the couch.”
Grunting, Owen turned and headed for the house.
Elias ran to catch up to him. “What do you plan to do?” he asked, trying to keep the peace.
“Let me handle this, little brother,” Owen said as he turned the knob. He frowned to find it unlocked. Turning to Elias, he said, “Go lock up the shed. I don’t want anyone to touch his stuff. When I get himout, you pack him a bag of clothes, his toothbrush, and his wallet. Everything else can wait.”
Elias ran off to do his bidding as Owen walked inside. The stench of alcohol filled his nostrils, making them burn. With a snort of disgust, he waded through pizza boxes, fast food wrappers, and dirty clothes. Peering at his passed-out brother, Owen assessed him. Wyatt’s overgrown beard reached his chest. His hair appeared greasy and unwashed, wadded into a ball on top of his head. The scent of his body reeked of piss, sweat, and vomit.
Owen refused to allow Wyatt to ride with them in this condition. Making up his mind, he leaned down and picked him up, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He estimated Wyatt weighed less than 150 pounds as he kicked wrappers out of his way and out the door. Walking toward the backyard, Owen spied the creek and promptly dumped his baby brother in the icy cold stream.
Wyatt woke with a jerk and then a scream of rage as the water shocked him back to life. Roaring like a bear, Wyatt stood up, swayed, and stumbled his way out to the grass. He collapsed on the ground on his knees while he heaved and coughed.
“Hello, brother,” Owen said angrily.
Wyatt slowly raised his head, and his eyes narrowed as he glared at Owen.
“What do you want?” he sneered, slowly standing.His body shook with cold and his skin appeared paler than it did inside.
“I came to fetch you. Your father died, and we’re burying him,” Owen said sternly. “Since you hung up on me, I didn’t have time to give you the details. Go inside and put on some fresh clothes. They’d better not smell like piss and vomit.”
“Fuck you, Owen,” Wyatt hissed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“We can handle this two ways. You can go peacefully, or I’ll hold you and strip you down to your underwear, your pick,” Owen said firmly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Wyatt roared as he launched himself at Owen. He braced for the hit and sent Wyatt rolling to the ground.
Elias, hearing the commotion, came running to his brother’s rescue.
Owen sat atop his scrawny kid brother, blocking the mosquito bite hits Wyatt hurled his way. “Did you get his clothes?”
“He only has two clean shirts and a pair of jeans, a handful of underwear, and two pairs of socks,” Elias reported.
“Get off me,” Wyatt screamed as he struck out. “I’ll kill you, Elias. I told you to leave me alone.”
“Did you find his boots?” Owen asked calmly.
“I threw them in the pile when I heard the ruckus,” Elias said. “I told you he won’t go willingly.”
Owen grinned as he slammed his fist into hisbrother’s jaw. Wyatt blinked in surprise and froze before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“Find a half-decent, clean blanket and toss me a pair of underwear. We have to pick up Mason’s kids. I don’t want Wyatt to scare them with his junk hanging out,” Owen said as he climbed off his brother and tugged at the sodden clothes. “Cripes, he stinks.”
“We’re taking him in his underwear?” Elias asked, shocked.
“He’s less likely to try to run. As usual, he’s belly aching. We don’t have time to argue with him,” Owen said, rolling Wyatt on his stomach as he pulled the wet shirt from his body. Scars decorated his kid brother’s back, and cigarette burns ran down his arms. Flinching, Owen rolled him to his back to check out his chest. The scarring continued along his chest, making Owen curse.
He jerked the jeans off his unconscious brother and closed his eyes as he saw the numerous scars along his legs. What did he subject his brothers to because he wanted to run away from his own guilt? He never told them how the nurse escorted him back to see their mom.Her pale, lifeless body lay against the stark white sheets. Her wavy brown hair, still tied loosely on top of her head. Owen brushed back her bangs and kissed her forehead as he whispered, “Goodbye, Mom. I’m sorry.” He fell into the chair beside her as the nurses and doctors attempted to control his drunk father. His bodywent numb, and he lay his head against her hand and cried like a baby.
“Owen,” Elias called, jerking him from the memory. “Here,” he said, handing him Wyatt’s underwear. A big gaping hole covered the back.
“Doesn’t he have a better pair?” Owen asked, disgusted.
